It's Decided
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: Forced to rest, Malcolm makes a group decision. These are missing moments from the episode 'Internal Affairs'.


It's Decided

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Forced to rest, Malcolm makes a group decision. These are missing moments from the episode 'Internal Affairs'.

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Scratching beneath the cast to get at the itch seemed like a good idea. However it was not attainable. He just couldn't reach the source. It was impossible. His pen, his toothbrush, the stylus, and when he reached for the steak knife Ilsa put an abrupt stop to his efforts. She was uncanny, and extremely fast on her feet.

So he gave up, leaned back in bed and listened as his metacarpal fracture of the thumb pounded in sync with his heartbeat.

They made a good team, those two – his heart and his injury; banging away in two four time at his psyche. It couldn't get much better than this; his own body making painful music.

Ten didn't seem to notice his distress. That's what he called him now … Ten. The boy with the serious face, his ten year old self – still fashioned out in that horribly scratchy camping outfit Dr. Whitly picked out for him.

There he sat at the foot of the bed – back straight; eyes wide … never blinking; his face placid, hair wet …beads of sweat forever popping out on his forehead. He was now his constant companion.

Unflinchingly, Malcolm stared back into those wounded eyes. He knew that look – earnest; hoping against hope to be understood, to be valued; loved. He smiled slightly and received a twin grin in return.

Sunshine flitted down from whatever perch she called home for the moment, promptly landed atop his head, and then settled gently in his hair. She was such a gift his Sunshine … a true friend.

Malcolm laughed and to his own ear sounded a bit hysterical. Maybe Gil was right and he needed a break – to get away. Do what rich people did when they needed to rest and escape their own pain and suffering. Climb aboard a jet, take to the seas … and just go. He certainly was tired. It had been a weary day; a challenging few weeks, a tumultuous year … a traumatized life.

Staring out the window, he rubbed his eyes and slid down further on the bed. Evening was finally here. Soon he could put this day behind him, and tomorrow start fresh.

Ilsa puttered about in the kitchen, her presence no longer resented; no longer unwelcome. His mother was right. In her own way, she was always right. He needed to be watched, he needed supervision. Whatever he had imagined at first – that she would be an intruder, that somehow she would stifle him or be an extension of his mother – was not the case.

Ilsa was none of these. She was quiet, steady and surprisingly good company.

She hummed tunes he did not recognize. She was efficient with his medications and fixed him healthy meals he could actually eat. When she settled him to sleep, her hands were soft; warm and comforting. She was exceptionally strong and he felt safe with her here.

Ilsa was needed.

Ten lifted his legs beneath him to sit crisscross – his vigil unyielding.

Curiously Malcolm studied himself and wondered why on earth he had wanted to erase Ten, purge him, send him away. He was him after all … wasn't he? From now on, that was no longer an option. Ten was a part of him. Like Ilsa, he was needed.

"A trip perhaps" he inquired of Ten. "Gil suggested the beach."

Ten tilted his head to the side, smiled then nodded in assent. Nodding back Malcolm continued, "Do you remember the last time we went to the beach? Gil took us. We searched for shells; built trenches in the sand and watched the ocean fill them up."

"I remember laughing", Ten responded.

After some silent moments, lost in memories – Malcolm studied the ceiling; and voiced his inner turmoil "He tried to kill us."

"We're still here", Ten countered and bit his lip.

Out from the shadows John Watkins walked toward him, vigorously scratching the top of his head; greasy hair sticking out on all sides. Leaning against the wall he slid down slowly like a snake and sat heavily on the floor.

"The beach doesn't sound like much fun", he admonished. "Why don't we hit the road, hitch hike across the country – meet some interesting, unsuspecting dimwits?"

Malcolm blinked. He had not seen John since hitting him over the head and stuffing him in a box.

"What brings you here?" he wondered aloud; but no explanation from John was forth coming. He only got a wink and nod, and then … "We're thick as thieves' brother", he laughed, "connected at the hip for life."

Malcolm pressed his eyes shut and grimaced. His thumb was now in agony, the stitches at his side pulling away from his skin, his thoughts losing traction. Through clenched teeth he groaned out, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave John."

John climbed quickly to his feet; his face petulant and whined out, "Don't be like that Malcolm. I'm really your friend you know. Go to the beach if you want. It's got nothing to do with me."

When he opened his eyes, John was gone. In his place he could hear Dr. Coppenrath's voice yelling from the ether, telling him he was not fit for duty and needed "serious help."

"Yes, you're absolutely right Simon. I need some serious help", he repeated in resignation.

"I'll be there in a moment Mr. B", Ilsa called out; and within moments she stood at the side of the bed – pills and a cup of water in hand.

Downing the pain killers, Malcolm felt sleep come to him in increments. His breathing slowed, and the musical beat between his thumb and his heart ceased.

Ilsa deftly made quiet, gentle work of his restraints, adjusted his pillows and pulled the sheets up to his chin to ward off chill. Content he sighed deeply. "Thank you Ilsa", he slurred out softly; his eyes now heavy – exhaustion overcoming his worries. It was time to rest. He could hear waves crashing, and felt warm sand at his back. The sun had set, and the stars were coming out.

"You're welcome Mr. B", she whispered and turned out the light.

He could feel Ten resting at his feet; his breaths even and deep. Dr. Coppenrath was silent; Jack hid mutely in the shadows and Sunshine lifted away to find her own resting place for the night. Stepping from her box, the girl moved closer and leaned over the bed. He could feel her hair tickle his cheek. She was beautiful.

Malcolm smiled up at her and wanted to speak … but sleep was pulling him down, and he could not form the words to reassure her; to let her know he wasn't giving up … he would find her, he would find out what really happened. "I think the beach sounds wonderful", she murmured; then lithely climbed in the bed beside him and curled up by his side.

Well then, it's decided, he thought … the beach it is.

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Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave a review to let me know what you think.


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